Vintage
by CrazyCousinEiko
Summary: John gets a new jumper. He says it's "vintage." Sherlock insists otherwise. It's up to Mrs. Hudson to settle their argument whether she knows it or not. Not slash.


To Sidney_Sussux, who gave me the prompt. Thank you to her- for the prompt and putting up with my long-winded messages; Morgan_Stuart- for the most incredible representation of Mrs. Hudson, which I took inspiration from; bleedingcrimson- for being an amazing beta-reader like always; and to all you readers and reviewers for keeping my spirits high. ;)

My one-word prompt: _Vintage_

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John walked up the stairs to his flat feeling very satisfied. After Sherlock had destroyed his favourite jumper during one of his mad science experiments, it had taken John _weeks_ to find another one to his liking. Even though he wasn't normally choosy about his clothes, he felt that he was allowed one guilty pleasure, and for him, that was selecting his jumpers. He was especially pleased because not only was this one good quality and comfortable, but it was also inexpensive. He had found it in a thrift shop just down the road. He would wash the garment later, but for now he just wanted to feel the familiar weight of the knit. Entering the sitting room, Watson coughed and waved away green-coloured smoke. Wait, _green_? No, he didn't want to know. Afraid of what might happen if he came upon his flat-mate by surprise, he announced,

"Sherlock, I'm back!"

The curly-haired man only grunted in reply. John resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Sherlock could be such a pain sometimes, but at least he made life interesting. Ha. _Interesting_. That was mild.

"John, go get the- what are you wearing?" Watson could not, even if he tried, ignore the blatant tone of shock and disgust.

"This?" the blond held out the knitwear. "It's my new jumper. I bought it to replace my old one that _you_ destroyed."

"It was in the way."

"It was in the laundry hamper! In the _corner_!"

"And?"

"I made sure that it was well away from whatever you were planning."

"Well, your efforts were fruitless. And that new jumper of yours is hideous. It looks like it came out of a dumpster 40 years ago."

Watson blinked in surprise. Yes, he was used to Sherlock's bluntness by now, but Sherlock had never been one to comment on fashion. To be honest, he had never thought his flat-mate cared. Finally finding his tongue, he spluttered defensively,

"It's- it's _vintage_!"

"Which is simply another word for 'out-dated.'"

"What is it with you and semantics?"

"Semantics helps solve cases. Speaking of which, get my mobile."

"And where is it?"

"In my coat pocket."

Hadn't they already gone through all this? Yes, their third case together. John frowned reproachfully at the consulting detective as he retrieved the item from Sherlock's coat, which happened to be currently on its owner as it had been the last time. Even though he knew that he shouldn't take offense to what Sherlock said, part of Watson still stung at the jumper comment. But no matter. He'd shrug it off. He, unlike Sherlock, was mature. As long as this was the end of younger man's remarks, the blond didn't care what Sherlock thought.

"I'm going to make tea."

Sherlock made no effort to acknowledge this. John walked into the kitchen and brewed his favourite beverage. A few minutes later, someone knocked on the door. The doctor's brows furrowed. Drilling the consulting detective with a stare, he asked,

"Sherlock, have you gotten any texts, lately?"

"None, save yours."

"Were you expecting anyone?"

"No."

_I wonder who that could be, then, _Watson thought.Going over to the door, he warned, "Sherlock, don't touch my tea."

Watson opened the door and smiled genially when he saw Mrs. Hudson standing on the other side. Ushering her in, he briefly wondered if Sherlock had caused some ruckus while he was gone, and the landlady was here to scold him about it, or if this was purely a social visit. With her, anything was possible.

"Hello, boys. I just made some scones and wanted to know if you wanted any. But remember, I'm not your house-keeper. I just thought that it might be a nice treat."

"Yes, please. Thank you very much, Mrs. Hudson," John replied. Mrs. Hudson made the best scones, and with _tea_… They were in for a real treat. Pulling up a chair for her, he asked, "Would you like any tea? I've got some on the stove."

"That would be lovely. Thank you, dear."

"You're welcome. Thank _you_ for the scones."

John whistled happily as he finished the tea. Mrs. Hudson ambled good-naturedly about how well baking the scones had gone today, the difficulties in making them with her oven ("It's such an old, rickety thing, you know, but I can't help but love it all the same. And besides, I think I'm too old to learn how to use a new one."), and what seemed to be the entire history of scone making. Finally, John brought out the tea on the cleanest cups and trays he could salvage from the kitchen.

"Why, thank you, John. You're always such a dear. If only my husband could have been more like you, or at least half as handsome. Then maybe I would have hesitated before letting Sherlock ensure his execution. Oh, well. I suppose I won't make that same mistake again, now will I?"

"No, I suppose you won't." John couldn't help but smile at the nonchalant manner in which she spoke of her husband's death. If it had been anyone but his landlady, he probably would have been mortified. He sat in his designated chair and enjoyed the lovely teatime treat. He knew that Sherlock was too busy with… well, whatever he was doing, to eat, so John decided to be a little selfish and eat without him. Well, perhaps he might save one for the younger man, but that wasn't a guarantee.

"By the way, I meant to say it earlier, John, but I love your jumper. Is it new?"

"This? Why, yes. I just got it this afternoon at the corner store."

"Ah, I love that shop. It sells the most adorable clothes. Stand up and let me get a better look at you."

John did as he was told, spinning slowly around at her command so she could get a better look at the garment. She clapped in delight and said,

"Yes, it looks lovely on you, John. Vintage, yes?"

"Yes." _Ha, Sherlock!_ Watson thought. _Mrs. Hudson knows that I have good taste._

"I thought so. I remember my grandmother wearing something very similar to this when I was a little girl. Oh, but we won't count how many years ago that is!"

She laughed warmly at this sentiment. John, however, blanched. He looked down at his jumper. Basic cable knit, medium thickness of yarn… He _sounded_ like an old lady just thinking it! Raising his tea to his lips, his hand shook and _accidentally_ spilled the hot liquid all down the front of his jumper.

"Oh, no! Would you look at that! Ruined it already! I'd better go change." He raced up the stairs to go seek an alternative garment. It was used. He could wash it and return it the next day, no problem. But for right now, he did not want to be caught wearing that and looking like an old lady, no offense to Mrs. Hudson.

Downstairs, Mrs. Hudson walked over to Sherlock and smiled conspiratorially. She handed him the last scone and poured him a cup of tea.

"How did I do?" she asked with a wink.

"Splendidly, Mrs. Hudson," he replied in complete honesty, winking back. Sometimes he couldn't resist something pulling one over on John, not when it was so _easy_. The landlady chuckled.

"The poor dear. How long do you think it will take for him to realize it's a joke?"

Sherlock shrugged. He never intended to _actually_ let Watson know that they had pranked him just the same as he still had not yet informed his flat-mate that he had taught Mrs. Hudson how to text. Patting his shoulder, she announced,

"Well, I'll be off. I've got to get the clothes done, knitting wrapped up, and... well, you wouldn't be interested in all that. Tell John I said good-bye, won't you?"

Sherlock nodded his farewell to her as she disappeared down the stairs. He set his vial down and grinned self-satisfactorily.

Another project complete.

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